


Devotion Makes The Man

by stammed_cleams



Category: A Crown of Candy - Fandom, Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Just after the concord was formed, Lapin's backstory, Peasant!Lapin, Political Drama, Rags to Riches, Young Lapin, Young Theobald, backstory headcanon, discussions of torture and execution cw, lotta warnings on this one boys, mentions of drug use cw, mentions of sex cw, no birth tho that wigs me out too lmao, pregnancy cw, what can i say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24154126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stammed_cleams/pseuds/stammed_cleams
Summary: For political reasons, Candia has been given no choice but to look in the lowest depths for their Primogen, to an addict, a witch, and a criminal. The responsibility has been placed on Theobald's shoulders to see that the young delinquent is ready to meet the Pontifex herself in six months - but Lapin finds his old habits a little harder to abandon than he would like.
Relationships: Amethar Rocks/Caramelinda Rocks, Lapin Cadbury & Amethar Rocks, Lapin Cadbury & Theobald Gumbar, Theobald Gumbar & Amethar Rocks
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	1. Political Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> mom said its MY turn on the angsty crown of candy fic!!!!! is this yet another work in progress? yes. do i already have several other wips? yes. are you gonna complain about it?? i sincerely hope not, please dont, im fragile.
> 
> anyway, i hope you like this!!!! i debated whether or not to call this a theopin fic but idk??? ill say that the tension in this fic is no more and no less gay than in canon. do with that what you will.

“Enter.”  
The massive doors swung open, and light poured into the King’s chamber, streaming in from the radiant bulb through the sparkling sugar glass windows. A young Theobald, barely 25 years of age, marched boldly through the tall, carpeted hallway. He was far less decorated back then, but brighter in the face, both his soft, clear ears still in tact. His eyes glowed not with the devotion of a grizzled old night, but with the youthful reverence, nay, _worship_ of his ward. He approached the great Queen Caramelinda, who was sitting pensively in the throne, softly rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her long gown glittered butterscotch yellow and rippling caramel brown in the brilliant bulblight - she was a sight, indeed. As soon as he was a few feet from the stairs that lead to her throne, he fell into a kneeling bow.

“My queen,” he said intently, “You wished to see me.”  
“Yes, Theobald,” she said, sitting forward on her seat and splaying her dainty fingers out on her armrests. “There is a grave business to which I must attend. I wish for your council, and later, for your help.”  
He dared to glance up at her. “My council, your majesty?”

“Yes, your council. I find that my true council usually have their heads too deep into the world of politics to say much of use to me,” she said. She stood from her throne and linked her hands behind her back, beginning to pace slowly back and forth. She looked exhausted, Theo noticed. “For the sake of the bulb, you may rise, sir knight,” she sighed, with a flippant gesture. Theobald snapped to his feet. The queen stood before him, at the top of her small set of stairs. “Such is the situation,” she said sternly, “The formation of the concord is almost sealed. Candia’s political power is magnificent and unfaltering. My husband’s late older sisters have ensured that we will serve a role in any matters of worldwide trade or military disputes. That said - with the rise of the concord so rises the newly globalized Bulbian church. Brassica wants spokespeople from all of the - as she calls them - civilized nations. A tricky quote. For, indeed, it’s too hard to tell if she means that all civilized nations ought to have a representative if they are to be considered civilized… or if only the nations with a representative ought to be considered civilized from here on out. Either way, if we are labeled unbulbian by the Pontifex herself, that will be a blow too severe even for us to survive.

“Representatives of the bulbian church are, as I’m sure you know, are primogens. Primogens, which are blessed by the bulb above. Miracle workers. Now, bulb help me, I have used all the forces in my power to scour this nation for a fair, bulbian miracle worker and there is no one to be found. No one.” She sat cautiously back in her throne, staring into the middle distance. “We  _ cannot  _ be excluded from the bulbian church. For us to be labeled heretics now would leave us with a reputation worse than that of the meatlands, and even they have found a woman who claims to work miracles. As times of peace advance, my council predicts that the power of the church will only rise. Something must be done.”

Theobald was quiet for a moment, daring not to even look at her. He thought very hard about something wise to say, but he’d never been asked for council before. Eventually, he spoke up. “If I may be so bold, my queen,” he began trepidatiously, “If I were given another chance to make up for my failure, I would leave no stone in Candia unturned.”

She shook her head. “I do not doubt the thoroughness of your men,” she told him, “If you tell me there are no miracle workers in Candia, I will believe there are no miracle workers in Candia. Should I have reason for doubt?”  
Theobald thought for a moment, before reassuring himself. He had searched the entire country and come up without so much as a lead. “No, your majesty,” he said, “I have searched everywhere.”  
She nodded. “If there were to be a more cautious search,” she elaborated, “How long would that take? Conservatively.”

He looked down for a moment, considering. “I might have it done in two months or so, if I began today.”  
“No, even if it took one month, the church would have been suspicious of us long before that.” Softly to herself she went on, “We _must_ have a miracle worker…” Theobald was quiet for a moment, before the queen spoke up. “Theobald,” she said.

“Yes, my queen?”

“If I give you an order, you must, on threat of death and dishonor, obey it,” she said. It was not a question. It was fact, and they both knew it.

“Yes, my queen.”  
“And if I tell you that a matter is secret,” she elaborated, once again standing and linking her hands behind her back. “Then you will utter it to no-one for as long as you live and breathe.”  
“Of course, my queen.”

“Note then, sir knight, that the matters of which I am about to speak are of the surest confidentiality. No one must know.”

Theobald blinked for a moment, nearly flattered off his feet. He bowed his head. “I understand. No one will know for as long as I live, your majesty. I swear it on the bulb.”  
“Yes…” she said cautiously to herself, “On the bulb…” She placed a hand on the armrest of her chair, staring out through a stained glass window. “We have searched and searched. It seems there are no good, bulbian miracle workers in all of Candia. So… I fear we must resort to one who isn’t.”

“Forgive me, but… isn’t… _what,_ my queen?”  
She spoke softly, breath coming through her voice. Tired. “Good, sir Theobald,” she said, “Bulbian.”  
Theobald’s eyes went wide for a moment, before he concealed his impression. “My queen… surely you do not mean a… a… a _witch.”_ He whispered the word like it was a dirty, filthy thing to say. Caramelinda looked down at the ground, pursing her lips. She didn’t answer right away.

“Theobald, you must understand that politics are complicated,” she said, “Many things which people believe to be literal are largely symbolic. If there is a false bulbian representing us then we will have power with the church, and the spirit, the people of Candia will thrive. It does not matter if he lies when he preaches. Lies do not matter if you do not know they’re lies.” She paused for a moment, witnessing the stained glass image of the great yellow bulb rising over the purple fields of rock candy, the hungry one beneath and suppressed by its radiant light. “I believe in the bulb as well as anyone. And I believe that the bulb would rather its people thrive than its name be ever-preserved for only good and holy priests to use.” She slowly turned back around to face Theobald, whose jaw had dropped ever so slightly and whose eyes were wide with shock. She was not fazed by his expression. “Do you understand, sir knight?”  
“I…” he muttered, before clearing his throat and nodding. “I do, your majesty. I understand completely.”

“What think you of it?” she asked, “I grant you permission to speak freely.”  
“I… well…” Theobald tripped uneasily. A tight feeling stuck in his chest at the thought of a witch serving on behalf of Candia. He believed in magic - As a matter of fact, he’d practiced it, under the teachings of Lazuli. But he believed in the bulb too, and the bulb punished liars. It didn’t matter who knew - the bulb always knew. Even children knew that. For a liar to serve as a representation of the church… He was more liberally minded than most, and even that made him feel filthy. “Well, my queen… I think it is… Well, it is heresy, your majesty.” He managed out. The silence that followed made his heart race, and he wondered for a moment if he’d lost not only his job, but his head. But Caramelinda nodded sadly.

“That it is,” she said, “I do not doubt that for a moment. But is it necessary heresy?”

Theobald had never heard of such a concept. He gawked at her stupidly, with no idea what to say.

“Ignore that question, sir knight. I will not condemn your soul by making you answer it,” she sighed, “Besides. I know the answer. I suppose I was merely hoping someone would justify it.” She sat down on her throne, and took on her tone of authority. “Sir Theobald, you must find me a miracle worker. It does not matter if they worship the bulb or no. You will know of this, and my fair husband, and that is where the list will end. We will find a way to mask their magic. You need not be certain they are holy - just be certain they are legitimate, and that they will not be missed. Do you understand?”

His confirmation only hesitated for a second. This was a sin, no doubt, and he’d never really understood politics. But surely if the queen needed it, then there was a reason for it. There was a reason some people ruled and some people didn’t. He crossed an arm over his chest. “Yes, your majesty,” he said, “It shall be done.”   



	2. The Lowest Low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The young criminal and warlock Lapin Cadbury is shocked to find an interested party swooping into his rescue mere days before his execution. When he finds that he's a representative of the royal family, he's rendered speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is UP my homedogs!!! heres another chapter of this then. man, crown of candy slaps huh guys. i mean i know you know that because youre here, browsing fanfiction, but just to reiterate like,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, dang. anyway!!! hope you guys enjoy this!!! sorry if im overposting i just Love Attention and have nothing else to do. Quarantine Be Like.

The bound, laffy taffy wrapped brick hit the cold, hard floor of the prison cell. Where it hit the substance had a slight give, and out from the side spilled a few, small white particles. For a moment, they were mistakable from the innocent white clumps of sugar which fell from the sky on cold, winter nights. But upon a closer look they were harder, coarser. Sitting on the ground was enough salt for a small village to overdose on.

Behind the brick, deeper in the cell, was the owner of substance. A tall, lithe rabbit made entirely of dark chocolate, dressed in a beaten up, scratched silver foil tunic with dark pants and a red ribbon belt tied around his waist. All his bags, his coat had been taken and there were scratches along his stubbled face, hot chocolate dripping down his neck. His ears hung low, his dark eyes set forward in a hundred yard stare. 

On the other side of the cell, dressed in the outfit of a local guard, was a seven-or-so fool column of smarties in a sharp black coat. His mouth was concealed by a thick mustache, and there were lines under his eyes. This was day two of interrogation, and he was losing patience. “Three ounces of pure, uncut, Carnish salt,” he said, “We found this with your things along with… stolen jewels… stolen coin… and, bulb above help me, offering and tokens to a _pagan god.”_ The rabbit went on staring. The guard stepped forward. “You listen here, junkie,” he hissed, “We’ve gotten anonymous witnesses who’ve told us all about your little… _side-hustle_. Healing criminals who can’t get to doctors. Sounds very noble doesn’t it?” He suddenly looked up at the wall, and his voice took on a different tone, the tone of a quote. “‘If you couldn’t get to your pockets before you bled out, Lapin would let you die on the street. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, swear on the bulb.’” He cast another look at Lapin, who had pulled his knees a bit closer to his chest. “People like you make me sick,” he hissed. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. We have ways of making you talk. There’s no jumping out of this one, rabbit. Up to you if you want to make your last moments peaceful, or bloody. So what’s it gonna be?” He stepped forward, holding one of the bars of the cell, “Who’d you get the salt from, Cadbury?”  
Lapin was silent for another moment, before looking up, slowly, intentionally, to face the police officer. He looked him dead in his eyes, and was silent. 

With a growl the guard reached in and withdrew the salt. “Have it your way,” he spat, “But you’ll have to eat sooner or later.” With that he spun around, and left him alone in the dark.

Once he was gone, Lapin shifted himself around and laid fully on the floor, staring up at the bugs wriggling in the ceiling. So this was it, he thought. The eleventh hour. Within a few days he’d be dead, be it by starvation, torture, or public hanging. Oddly enough, he wasn’t all that concerned with how he would go. Pain was temporary - be it hours and hours on the rack or split second crack of the neck, eventually it would be over, and it wouldn’t matter. It was what came after that frightened him. He knew in his heart that the Hungry One awaited him, licking their lips with all the menace of the evil deeds he’d done, and he would suffer in the pit. That pain would last forever. The word repeated over enough times to make him sick. Forever, forever. The two days he’d been slowly starving in this cell already felt like forever. What could forever possibly feel like?

He didn’t sleep that night - he hadn’t slept the last night either. What he really wanted right now was some salt. His headache had been worse than the hunger, as was the piercing fever that made him feel like he might melt and freeze at the same time. He held up a hand to watch himself shake every now and again. He should have grabbed the brick when the guard threw it through the bars. Curse his foolish pride. Because of his pride, he spent another night shaking with more than just his fear of damnation. An unloved miscreant who used his evil abilities to make people cough up coin to go on living. Oh yes - there was a special place in the Hungry One for him.

By morning, he was in dire straits. He was starving, shaking, going over what it must have been liked to be tortured, hanged, starved to death. By the time the lights came on, he winced, and blocked his eyes. The door would open and the guard would be back, this time, no doubt, with some horrible weapon and a companion with a set of chains. Adrenaline pumping in his blood he tried to psych himself up for it by leaving as much of his body as possible behind. He picked a point at the wall the stare at, and planned to remain there. 

The guard stepped back in the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another figure, brighter colors, brilliant reds and yellows and blues. Nobody dressed like that around here. He dared to look. There, in the doorway was a hulking, regal figure. He was a young man, (slightly younger than him, he would guess) in the shape of a bear, with soft, semi-translucent cherry red skin. His face was young, determined and intent. More startling than any of that, however, was how incredibly decorated he was. He was in full knight’s regalia, with polished golden armor from his head to his feet. The armor was bound with gems and sugar-silk sashes, and on his waist was a sword, a crystalline orange push pop. He was a spectacular figure - his cleanliness, his shine was enough to tell him he must have been royalty, from the capital, perhaps. Lapin’s chest tightened - his presence here did not bode well. 

The smartie guard from before looked bitter, his lips pursed while he walked into the dungeon. There were another few guards with him, lower rank, Lapin didn’t know them. These two burly armored cake pops approached the cell and, without a word, unlocked and opened the door. 

“Lapin Cadbury,” said the head guard, “On the command of His Majesty the Good King Amethar of House Rocks, first of his name, sovereign ruler of Candia and the Sugarlands, duke of Cookieshire, protector of the realm and defender of the faith, bannerman of the Battle of Gumdrop Pass and hero of Frosting Valley, the Unfallen, you are to be escorted from here to the royal dungeon of Castle Candy preceding your execution.”  
Lapin blinked, eyes darting between the guard and the shimmering knight. This _must_ be bad news. He had adjusted to the idea of hanging, even of torture. But if they had to bring him to Castle Candy for something, it must have been worse. Interrogation? Experimentation? Bulb forbid they make an example of him - examples of what happened to witches were _ruthless._ For a moment, he didn’t move. “What… will happen to me there?” he asked warily. 

“That is none of your concern,” answered the guard, “The good sir Theobald of the knights of Gumbar will be the one to escort you. Stand and follow or you will be dragged.” 

Lapin paused for a moment, before he stood, and as soon as he was on his feet one of the inferior guards was binding his wrists behind his back with rope. That was to be expected. With that simple movement, the majority of his spells were gone. Despite his terror, he made an attempt to stand privately, his face solemn and his chest out. It was something of a sad sight, a poor, thin, shabbily dressed man with blood crusted around his face trying to look proud - but it was better than groveling. Anything was. He nodded to them both, signifying his readiness to go. 

The knight stepped before him and gave him a look that stunk of contempt. Lapin waited to be struck, gritting his teeth, before he turned sharply to the guard and said. “I thank you for your service, Sir Sourstack. Might I use the services of some of your guards to escort the prisoner to my carriage?”  
“Of course, sir knight,” answered the royal guard. He waved a finger and loudly whistled, and in a second Lapin had a guard clutching both his arms, and about six more had marched into the room. 

“Excellent,” said Theobald, “I thank you for your sacrifice. I understand that it is strange for Castle Candy to interfere with your legal system. We hope that this is not too much of an interruption.”

“Not at all, sir knight,” assured the guard, “But be careful with this one. You will find that he is quite… devious, when it comes down to it,” he told him, and looked Lapin up and down. 

“I see,” Theobald grumbled, “Well. Let’s get on then, musn’t be late.” 

“Indeed, sir. Men, roll out!” 

Theobald lead the hoard of guards back up the stairs and out of the dungeon, back into the streaming yellow bulb light that made Lapin wince. Theobald cast a look back at the way he winced at the light of the bulb. It was probably just because he had been in the dark for so long, and because he was an addict who’d been without salt for days. Still, it was hard not to take it as a sign. 

They marched out to the road, out to the decorated royal carriage with beautiful buttercup yellow meeps waiting to ride, the driver still in the front. The carriage itself was curtained and closed, separate from the driver, wide and luxurious. It stood out rigidly from the musty city in brilliant easter pinks, blues, and yellows. Its base was butterscotch foiled in gold. 

After the guards placed Lapin in the cart in the back, one stepped out and said, “Sir, shall we bind him down?” 

Theobald considered this. “Yes, perhaps that would be best,” he answered. The guards nodded at this order and hooked the rope securely around the base of the seat, leaving Lapin very little room to move without scratching up his wrists.

“Sir,” observed the same guard who spoke before, “You have no guards from Castle Candy. Surely you will take some of ours?”

“No, thank you,” said Theobald, the many of the guards exchanged looks, “It is a short ride, and I can handle myself. That, and the carriage is warded. I assure you, it won’t be a problem.”

The guard looked for a moment like he might object, and then crossed an arm over his chest, and bowed shallowly. “As you wish, sir,” he said. He then signaled the rest of his guards to move out, and they all lined up behind him. 

Theobald thanked them once more, then shouted to his driver, “We ride at once!” He then got into the back of the cart, and it began to roll into movement. 


	3. The Knight And The Primogen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lapin's new duties are explained to him by Sir Theobald on the way to Castle Candy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats up gang!!!!! heres another bit of this!!! i hope yall are enjoying it,,,,,,,,,, whos to say!! cant WAIT for tonights episode... regardless of what happens it is going to SLAP

Theobald sat opposite the criminal, regarding him closely. His back was slightly arched where the rope tied him down, but his face was stern and prideful nevertheless. He was a terrible sight - an addict, a beggar, a thief. No way in the Hungry One could this be the Primogen of Candia. Nevertheless, he was the only one who met his criteria. A true witch, of what magics he didn’t know, but with the power to heal and cast spells as well as any bulbian miracle worker. And, according to the records, a friendless orphan - he wouldn’t, for a second, be missed. The cart had no windows, and for good reason.

“Do you…” began Sir Theobald, slowly and intentionally, “Understand what you’re doing here, Mister Cadbury?”  
Lapin made an effort to sit up a little straighter, not to look frightened of his fate. “I imagine I am to be… interrogated, and, then… made an example of,” he predicted.

Theobald regarded him carefully. Not an unreasonable assumption, he thought darkly. “No,” he answered. This made the rabbit look up. “You… are a very lucky man,” Theobald began carefully, “The bulb, in its strange and… ineffable ways… has decided to give you another chance.”

Lapin opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. 

Instead of speaking, Theobald merely leaned forward in his seat. Lapin winced and turned his face away, shutting his eyes as he awaited a slap, or worse. However, instead of that, he felt a release from the tension on his arms and his back and felt that the rope tied just under the seat had been removed. He stretched his shoulders, and looked at Theobald, bewildered. “You’re… letting me go?” he asked.

“No,” answered Theobald, “No, you will have a different part to play. I’m not thrilled about it, I’ll be honest, but… as I’ve said, the bulb does work in very strange ways. Now. I’m going to ask you questions about yourself. If you lie, you will face the same death you faced a moment ago. Do you understand?”  
Lapin gave him a look, then nodded. 

“You have been accused of six counts of petty theft, three of assault, three of vandalism, two of greater theft, two of breaking and entering, one of distribution of illegal substances and one, of course, of witchcraft. Are you innocent of any of these charges?”

With a distinct, almost prideful look that sent a shiver up Theo’s spine, Lapin answered, “No. I am guilty of all of these charges.”

Theobald swallowed, and nodded. “Do you have any living relatives?”

“No.”

“What are your magical capabilities?”

He thought for a moment, then answered, “At the moment they are… limited. Minor healing spells, some… shallow illusions. Nothing more.”

“I see,” answered Theobald, “And is your magic… legitimate, are there any tricks, any uses of alchemy…?”

Lapin shook his head. “None,” he said. He swallowed. “Will I be… hm. Will you tell me… why the king has sought me?”

Theobald leaned forward, and whispered. “You will serve a greater purpose now,” he told him, “Now listen to me very carefully. If you tell anyone what I told you right now or who you are or what you are, you  _ will  _ face the punishment for  _ all  _ of your crimes. Your life from here on out will depend on your secrecy.”

Lapin took a moment to take all this in, his head spinning. “What…” he said slowly, “Are you asking me to do?”

Theo thought for a moment, letting out a sigh before continuing. “The formation of the concord is almost complete,” he began, “But, in order to maintain any political power, we must be present in the church. Presence in the church is defined by a Primogen, which must be blessed by the bulb. Through all of Candia we… have not found any bulbian miracle workers,” at this he looked somewhat defeated, glancing down at the floor of the cart, “That is why you will serve the role.”

Lapin’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?” he asked. “I… I am no  _ primogen,  _ what-”

“You are now,” explained Theobald, pointing a finger, “You will abandon your old life. You will continue your pagan worship in secret and expose only miracles which can be disguised as bulbian to the rest of the world. You will serve the role of a lowborn bulbian healer, and you will join the priesthood in Castle Candy as a representative of our side of the church. Your old life is gone - already we are wiping your crimes and your sins off your record.”

Lapin’s jaw had dropped, and he scoffed, absolutely baffled. “Surely, there is… someone more suited to-”

“No. It will be you. The decision’s already been made,” said Theobald sternly, “Play your cards right, Lapin, and there is a chance you can live a long, decadent life in the Castle. Play them wrong, and there will still be a basket waiting on your head.” At Lapin’s silence, he went on intently, “This is a gift from the bulb itself, Lapin, believe in it or no. If I were you I would not waste it.”  
Lapin fell silent, making an effort to process all of that information. His eyes slowly lingered from Theobald away to the bottom left corner of his vision, contemplating as he focused on a spot on the floor. This must have been some cruel dream - yes, that was it. He was still on the floor of that prison cell. Or maybe on a torture rack, knocked out. That would make more sense than this.

The tone of the knight suddenly changed from its brutal sternness to something that almost resembled sympathy. “I understand this is a lot to take in. How long has it been since they fed you?”  
This pulled him right back into reality, immediately forgetting all talk of politics and faith. “Days,” he sighed. 

Theobald nodded solemnly, pulled a satchel off of his side, and withdrew a piece of spongy vanilla cake wrapped in fabric. He gingerly handed it to Lapin, and it took every ounce of self-restraint the rabbit had not to snatch it out of his hands like an animal. Intentionally, slowly, he took it, and took a bite. Heavenly. If this was a dream, he didn’t mind staying as long as this figment wanted him to. 

The small piece of cake was gone in seconds, and Lapin nodded, saying nothing in thanks. “Alright,” he said carefully, “So you want me to be a primogen? I suppose then I’ll be dining with the Pontifex by dinner tonight?”

Theo leaned back, appearing almost offended. “You’re taking this well,” he told him sharply, “I take it you’ll obey then?”

“Oh, yes, whatever you say,” he said, almost dismissively, “Better than being awake during whatever I’ve no doubt just passed out from.”

Theobald blinked, looking annoyed. “This… this isn’t a dream!” he declared, frustrated. 

Lapin smiled. “Yes, because I’ve been rescued by the Knight of Castle Candy to become a Primogen of Candia, after being arrested for witchcraft. It’s alright, I’m grateful. By all means, go on talking, I’ve forgotten why I’ve passed out and I’d prefer it stayed that way for as long as possible. Do tell me more about the royal family, I would be most grateful.”

Theobald gritted his teeth. He slipped off his metal glove, and in a swift move his paw came down hard across Lapin’s face. Displeased with what he’d been brought to do, he put his glove back on, watching as Lapin held his face, feeling the pain and slowly coming to the realization that this was  _ much  _ too real. He said nothing - the action had proved its own point. After he had collected himself, Lapin slowly rose, and looked him in the eyes again. It was all sinking in now, nice and slow. A few more moments passed, and it was clear he’d been put back in his place, and back into the real world. 

“Primogen?” he eventually asked.

The Knight raised an eyebrow and nodded. 

Lapin’s eyes went wide for a moment, before he stupidly said, “That is a… very bad idea.”

Theobald gave him a shocked look. “Why would you… say that, it’s literally we choose you or you die?!” he demanded with a gesture.

“Why would you choose me in the first place?” he rebutted.

“I explained that. You’re all we’ve got. The situation, I won’t lie, is… not ideal. But, frankly, all the other real witches couldn’t just disappear, they had… no offense, Mr. Cadbury, but friends, and family, and… people who’d look for them.”

“I see,” Lapin answered, “So… it is because I am so unlikeable, that you resolved I would serve as a good voice for Candia?”

Theobald gritted his teeth. “The situation is not ideal,” he repeated bitterly. 

Lapin nodded, eyes still wide. “No…” he whispered, “No, it doesn’t seem to be…” He trailed off, and then, staring into the middle distance, he dared to ask, “I don’t suppose…”  
“Yes?” 

“... Nevermind.”

“Your secrecy will do you no good, Cadbury, if you’re going to say something, say it.”

The rabbit shuffled uncomfortably. “Well, I just figured I’d ask if you happened to grab my salt on the way out,” he said, almost irritably. Theobald gritted his teeth. He must have been at least five years older than him, and yet such a precocious child.

“I am collecting you for the good of Candia and our good and noble King Amethar, of House Rocks!” he spat, losing his patience, “I am not giving you _drugs!”_ _  
_ Lapin widened his eyes. “Noted,” he muttered softly. Theobald shook his head in disbelief at his situation and readjusted in his seat, pulling out a piece of paper and beginning to scribble something on his lap, and Lapin picked a point on the floor to stare at. The Knight and the young Primogen rode the rest of the way in silence. 


	4. Sour Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caramelinda discusses the news of the new Primogen with her husband, who is still deep in mourning over the recent deaths of his older sisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is UP gang!!!!! i have been writing. So many one shots. I have like a wack ass one with parents, a figayda one. i have been ON those itty bitty fics. but! i refuse to stop posting this one. even if it is now twelve thirty. i know some of yall still up tho................ i see you, corn teen buddies, i see you. please leave a comment about what you like, what you want to see, what you're looking forward to!!! dont be shy, literally just talk it fuels my serotonin receptors.

Caramelinda slowly made her way through the grand hall, stepping between the statues of Lazuli and Rococo, towering over her in brilliant chocolate and blue and green speckled taffee. Looking up at the other two was her husband, face up to see the faces of his glorious sisters. Uninvited, Caramelina placed a hand on his massive shoulder. He whipped around to see her, then smiled. His eyes were red and puffed up again. 

“Caramelinda,” he greeted her, and turned so that he was standing just beside her, allowing her hand to stay on his shoulder. He said nothing more, the light that streamed in from the stained glass, seemingly stories high, ran rich and gold along his raspberry pink face. 

“How are you, Amethar?” she asked, her voice hardly a whisper. He responded to her with a very heavy sigh, a long breath in then out again through his teeth. 

“Not gonna lie, it’s been… It’s been a hard one today,” he said, rubbing at his beard and the slight stubble on his face just above it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Caramelinda asked him.

He shook his head. “Nothing to talk about,” he answered, “Just can’t help but wonder why the bulb saw fit to take them all.”  
She sighed at that comment, at the tragedy of it. Amethar was an open man, and they’d had long, in-depth, difficult talks about how he felt about the loss of his sisters. But it had been almost six months now, and he was right - there wasn’t much to say that hadn’t already been said. She allowed her hand to stay on his shoulder for a moment longer, pursing her lips and looking up at the faces of the statues. Amethar reached up a hand and placed it over hers.

“I wish I could say something to comfort you,” she said.

“Oh, don’t - don’t worry about that,” Amethar insisted, “Not your job.”

“I am… the queen, consoling the king is  _ absolutely  _ my job.”

“Well, considering you’ve been running the country all by yourself and I’ve been in my room moping, I think we can make an exception,” Amethar answered. Caramelinda didn’t correct him - she only smiled weakly, and softly laughed. 

“Well…” she said in a whisper, “On the subject of the bulb… I have some _ very  _ distressing news which, oddly enough, I think will probably raise your spirits.”

Amethar creased his eyebrows. “Oh?” he asked. 

She nodded. “You remember the debacle about finding a Primogen before we are disparaged by Pontifex Brassica, yes?”

He thought for a moment, staring into the middle distance. “Yeah, I think I remember you mentioning something like that. You couldn’t find any miracle workers, though.”

“That’s correct,” she answered with a supportive nod, “I… decided to take an unconventional approach. You know how important it is to have a Primogen serving for Candia. So I… recruited the abilities of… magic that is…  _ outside  _ the Bulb, which I intend to disguise for our purposes.”

Amether’s eyebrows shot up. “What?” he laughed, “We’re gonna have a magician serving as our head church guy?”  
“It is not _ideal,”_ Caramelinda admitted, raising a hand.

“Well, did we get someone, who are they?”

Caramelinda sighed - he was already amused by this, wasn’t he? “We did,” she answered, “A lowborn, by the name of Lapin Cadbury. I have not yet met the man and I intend to meet him at the same time you do. But… well, this is how Theobald described him.” She withdrew a small scroll from her side, and unfurled it, reciting it exactly. “My Dearest Queen. I am pleased to inform you that we have met a gentleman who fits your description precisely. He practices witchcraft, as seen by multiple witnesses and assured to me by the guards of Smoothieshire, and is friendless and orphaned. We will be able to make him disappear with no questions asked. That said, I feel it is my responsibility to warn you that as a candidate for the church he may prove to be most difficult. In all candidness your majesty, the man is a pretentious, precocious, stealing, cheating, sinful, prideful salt-addicted ass and I fear that making him into anything less of an unfeeling street mongrel may prove harder than surviving the Ravening War.”

Amethar openly snorted, looking thrilled with every new negative descriptor. “Oh-ho, this guy sounds like a fuckin’  _ badass.”  _

Caramelinda rolled her eyes. At least he’s feeling better, she thought. “Yes, well, he also sounds like a lot of trouble,” she said anxiously, rolling up the scroll, “I just got this message by pigeon mail from the road. Theobald should be here in an hour or two with the prisoner. Now this is very important, husband. This is strictly confidential. Do you know what that means?”  
“I know my council says it a lot,” he answered frankly.

“It means  _ secret,  _ Amethar. No one can know about this except you, me, and Theobald, do you understand? Absolutely  _ no one.” _

He gave her a look and then, as if it were obvious, said, “Well. Except Cal.”  
“No, dear, Calroy musn’t know either!” she said, shaking her head. 

“No- wh- you don’t trust Cal?!” he stammered.

“For these purposes, no, I don’t,” she admitted. At the horrified face of her husband she raised a cautionary hand and said, “But he shouldn’t take it as an insult of character! I don’t want this to get out to  _ anyone,  _ alright, and for the record my friends are included in on that as well.” 

“You told Theobald!” he argued childishly, “Why not just go to the head of Tartguard?”

“Meringue has a voice in the war council and the Count of Frosting Valley in their right ear, I don’t want them involved for the time being.”

“Theobald’s got political business in Gumbar, doesn’t he?”

“Husband, Theobald may come from wealth and good training but he is still a _lowborn,”_ Caramelinda explained patiently, “He was trained independently of the regional government of Gumbar, he is by no means their representative. The reason I told Theobald, Amethar, is not because I like him more than Cal, it is because he’s the only man who is powerful enough to have his own legion of Tartguard yet not powerful enough to be believed if, bulb help us, he actually _were_ to let loose what he’s heard. All the higher ranking generals are highborn and the political ties of their families will make dismissing the accusal a nightmare, and at that point it’s likely the church will already have an ear towards the matter.” She paused for a moment, seeing the slight confusion on her husband’s face as he processed each piece of that one by one. “All that aside I _like_ Theobald, and I trust him. It would serve you well to be a little nicer to him, you know.”  
Amethar took one more moment to process, and then grumbled, looking back up at the statues. Curse his wife’s ability to always be right. “I guess. Dude needs to loosen up. Just because I’m king doesn’t mean he needs to kiss my ass all the time.”

“That’s  _ exactly  _ what it means,” Caramelinda laughed, and wrapped a thin arm politely around his. “And besides, look at it from his perspective. His assignment was to guard the family of House Rocks. So far, you are his only success, and I’m sure he is eager to keep it that way.”

Amethar sighed, and nodded sadly. “Not like he could have done anything,” he said. 

“Yes, but he’s a very devoted young man, what’s possible doesn’t seem to make much difference in his mind,” she said to him, and leaned her head against his shoulder, joining him in looking up at the statues. 

“Mm,” Amethar agreed, “Still needs to loosen up though.”  
Caramelinda sighed sweetly. “Yes,” she admitted, “He could stand to.”

The two of them stood together for some time, before proceeding to the North end of the hall and taking up the thrones so they could wait for Theobald to arrive. Candian tradition stated that the king or queen which had been married in as opposed to born into the royal family had the smaller throne, but Amethar quickly insisted a new one be built that was of the same magnitude as his own. The two thrones were nearly identical, each covered in glistening gems and reflective silver and gold. At some point, in the boredom, Caramelinda instructed one of the guards standing by to fetch her something light and recent to read. Just as bored as her Amethar soon shyly requested she read it aloud, and happily she did so. The grand hall was filled with the soothing voice of the queen reading out a paper released by an independent author entitled ‘The Nature Of Candian Policy And The Values Which It Represents’. Amethar understood very little of it, but he liked to hear her speak. 

“- be understood that the nature of the Concord is such that peace is ensured through a mutual threat, and that no party may gain enough political power to overthrow or displace another. By orchestrating such an arrangement, Candia’s status has been-”

There came a loud knock at the door. Caramelinda closed her pamphlet, and Amethar sat back up, reopening his eyes and unfolding his fingers on his lap. “Enter,” she commanded. In stepped a member of the Tartguard.

“Your majesties,” he said, with a low bow, “I have been told to notify you that Sir Theobald and his guest have arrived.”

“See them in.”


	5. An Audience Before The Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lapin is brought before the King and Queen of Candia to receive his formal orders. He can only hope that his magic will be reliable enough that they will not see fit to have him executed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is UP candy pals. so!!! the Hot News for today is that i have started writing Avatar: The Last Airbender fanfiction (like everyone else amirite) and will probably be posting that on here shortly! hopefully some of yall d20 stans are also atla stans and if youre not, its ON netflix you SHOULD be watching it so you can love my darlings as much as i do.
> 
> anyway. in the meantime, enjoy another update of this devious little political drama >:) dont forget to comment!!!

The Tartguard nodded at her command, bowed lowly, and stepped back outside. Amethar grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, this should be good,” he whispered, “You said he’s a real lowblood right? Maybe I should take off the cape and the crown and stuff, so we don’t freak him out too bad.”  
Caramelinda, unlike him, seemed to be trying to look even more regal, readjusting her crown and her position in her throne, which was far too big for her frame. “Sometimes freaking out our subjects is not too bad an idea,” she assured him, “He ought to know that what he’s in for is serious.” The queen gestured to the two guards standing at the stairs below the thrones. “Give us a moment,” she ordered, and they marched out of the room to either side, heading right out to the back. 

As they approached the door, the Tartguard from before stepped back in with Theobald at his side. Beside him was a dazed-looking lowblood, with a low cut tin tunic bound at the waist by a long red ribbon bowed in the front, coppery pants just below it. A dark chocolate rabbit, he was still bloodied, and filthy, his hands tied behind his back. Theobald looked distinctly irritated, holding him by the arm and pulling him before the king and the queen. When they were at the base of the steps Theobald fell to his knee in a deep bow. The lowborn still looked dazed however, and while he was easily pulled to his knee for the first few moments he went on staring at the king and queen like a deer in the headlights, before, like a scolded child, he made an effort to look at the ground and at them at the same time. Queen Caramelinda lifted her chin, her dress and her hair falling effortlessly around her like the courses of the Cola River. Her husband leaned coolly back and wrapped his fingers around his armrests, a hulking goliath in a glittering cape and crown. Lapin began shaking again. 

Theobald snapped back to his feet, holding an arm over his chest. “Your majesties. It is my pleasure to introduce Lapin Cadbury. My Queen, I believe you will find he meets all of your qualifications.”

The Queen showed no expression, looking him over carefully, head to toes, toes to head. Amethar, on the other hand, had to stifle a smile. It was so cool when she played it all aloof and unreadable, not to mention incredibly sexy. That, however, he’d have to tell her later - he at least knew enough about politics to know that. 

“Well then,” she said coldly, “You are a magician. I would like to see with my own eyes that it is not a trick.”

Lapin’s chin wagged for a moment, before he swallowed, and said. “Your… majesty,” he managed, “You will… observe that… my cheek is cut from my experience in… prison… will-will you not?” he stammered. To his surprise the Queen stood and began to make her way down the short set of steps. His heart raced as she stood, the most powerful woman in all of Candia, less than a foot away from him, raised a hand, and pragmatically touched his cheekbone. He winced slightly, fists clenched tight. Caramelinda withdrew her hand and observed the thick, milk chocolate blood. She then swiftly turned and returned to her throne, pulling a handkerchief from a pocket near her chest and wiping the blood off delicately. 

“There seems to be no trick in that,” she confessed. She sat back down in her throne. 

“Well…” Lapin began. He began to get lightheaded as he considered the fact that, realistically, if he couldn’t perform his magic now he would almost certainly be executed. He cast a look at the king, who he thought might cut to the chase and remove his head then and there. He’d say his magic worked about 95% of the time, but under current odds that just didn’t feel good enough. He tried not to think about the dreaded 5%, shot off a quick mental prayer to the Sugar Plum Fairy, and shook out his hands. He tilted the cut on his cheek towards the king and queen and lifted his opposite hand to touch his cheek. With a muttering of an incantation he softened with relief at the taste of sweet plum, the feeling of warm wind running down through his arm like he didn’t exist, through his fingertips where it grew warmest and burst into a soft violet white light around the wound. He shut his eyes as he felt it first sting, then go numb, and seal. When he removed his hand, no blood or cut remained. He looked anxiously to the king and queen for a reaction - if they weren’t pleased, it was his head. Luckily for him, the King was smiling, leaning back and looking delighted. Having only seen solemn paintings, it looked almost… unnatural, on his royal face. The Queen, as before, looked serious.

She nodded. “Theobald,” she commanded, “You are in close range. Did you witness any tricks or use of alchemy?”

Theobald looked him over carefully, then turned sharply back towards the queen. There was an earthy smell in the air now, fruitier, less sweet than the typical air. “No, your majesty,” he declared, “No trick.”

“And you have described to him the situation at hand?” asked Caramelinda.

“In full, your majesty.”

“Good,” she said, and leaned forward slightly, “Then we will begin your training as Primogen of Candia at once.” Her voice grew slightly louder, as she formalized her orders. “Your training will last for six months. In that time you are to spend your days as apprentice to the Head Priest of the Bulbian church in Castle Candy, Creme De’Leclair. She will be informed that you are lowborn and uneducated in the specifics of the Bulbian faith, but she will believe you to be blessed by the power of the Bulb nevertheless. Let’s make sure she goes on believing it. During this time you will also be closely monitored by Sir Theobald, and will have quarters close to his. Your previous life, for these six months, may be spoken about only with Theobald, my husband, and I. After these six months, when you are officially a Primogen, it will not be spoken about at all. It will be gone from your mind, and your identity as Primogen will be cemented. If your patron God demands any manner of offerings or material sacrifices in order for your magic to remain, you need only ask any of us and it shall be done. If you play your part well, Mister Cadbury, I assure you you will be treated as sophisticated royalty. If you are found out as a witch, we will all play ignorant, and you will be killed.” She leaned back dramatically, and then half-smiled, seeing how still the prisoner had gotten. I think you’ve scared him enough, she told herself, and then went on speaking a bit less formally, a bit more dismissively. “I understand this is much to adjust to. If you have any concerns, you need only mention it to me,” she assured him. 

He swallowed, looked down for a moment, and then carefully spoke, “Your… majesty,” he began cautiously, “Many of my spells, especially those which are… more powerful… they do not exactly come off as Bulbian.”

Caramelinda nodded. “Yes, I considered that,” she admitted, “But you would be surprised what people are willing to believe. To play it safe, however, you will be privy to certain forbidden texts in the Confiscation Archive. None of these books may leave the Archive, you will be given a pass to enter, and if anyone asks you why you need to go over texts on witchcraft you are to respond that you feel you need to be able to recognize evil in order to be watchful of it and cut it off at the root. If I’m right, you should find what you’re looking for.”  
Lapin nodded, and didn’t dare to speak again. There was a moment of quiet while Caramelinda watched the young rabbit avert his eyes, leaned back, crossed one leg over the other. There was a minute exchange while Amethar shot her a look. She looked back, gave a half smile, and an almost imperceptible nod. The politics portion of the meeting had ended. The front of superiority could come down. 

With a grin, Amethar leaned forward, a hand wrapped around the arm of his chair. “Now that all that’s settled,” he said, and looked right at Lapin. “I’ll bet you’re pretty starved at being stuck in a jail cell, huh?”

“I did give him some rations on the road, my lord!” spoke up Theobald.

“Rations, what’s rations?!” demanded Amethar, “You’re gonna be head Primogen, you’re gonna dine like one. We’ve already uprooted your entire life, I say we owe it to you!” He reached to the side of him and pulled a dramatic, gilded string to the side of his throne. What seemed like an impossibly short amount of time later a Tartguard had walked back through the door, and waited for orders. “Tell the cooks to set an place at the royal table for lunch today, for our guest here. Oh, why not, two extra places! Theobald, you can come too!” he ordered, the Tartguard nodded.

“Yes, my king!” Theobald said, grinning and shamelessly rocking forward onto his toes. The Tartguard nodded and spun around, heading back out the door. Amethar stood from his seat and made his way down the stairs. He slapped a huge hand against Lapin’s back, making his shoulders shoot up and his eyes go wide, and he started walking towards the door of the chamber, dragging along Lapin and making Theo hurry behind. 

“Come on, let’s get you some less bloody clothes!” he exclaimed, and walked him eagerly down the hall. 


	6. The Second Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lapin adjusts to the lavish life of royalty, before responsibility reaches him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sup gang!!! i have no idea what to post but i Havent been writing very much. ah well. if yall wanna tell me what you think i should make feel free my brain is like a soft boiled egg
> 
> anyway leave a comment!! please validate me!!

Lapin had never been treated so well in all his life. The King had walked him by the back to a servant and told him “This gentleman is our guest - Help him clean up, if you would.” That was all he said - clean up. Nevertheless he was ushered alone down the glimmering halls by a smiling sour patch kid skinned servant to a massive, luxurious guest room, given the choice of hot or cool water to bathe in with soap and a brush, several different outfits to choose from on the bed of all the finest silks in Candia, a vanity filled with any sort of makeup and product he could fathom. They even gave him the option of being ‘bathed’ and ‘dressed’ by someone else - he very quickly turned them down, the very concept making him blush with modesty. Pleased to obey his request the one who’d taken him there, the short green sour patch girl, grinned and nodded. “Lunch is in about a half hour - would you like to be disturbed for it?” she said as she was about to leave.

“Yes… thank you,” answered Lapin, still somewhat bewildered. At that she nodded once more, and stepped out, leaving him, for the first time, totally alone. The room he was in was resplendent - there were windows on one side, letting the bulblight pour in across a king sized bed, perfectly made. There was a separate table for dining alone, and a beautiful bath room with steaming warm water already ready for him, and a beautiful mirror and vanity against where the drain was built into the floor. All of it was vaguely surreal. To think that no less than a few hours ago he was a prisoner, bound for execution. How long… it must have been no more than seven hours. Seven hours… he’d slept through such time before, and now his entire life had changed. His head was spinning. But it all began to make more sense when he smelled the scent of sugar plum, wafting up behind him. Without looking he said. “This is your doing… isn’t it?”

That gentle laugh like the chime of bells, always sounding very far away and yet right up next to his ear, rang out again. “Clever rabbit,” she said. 

Lapin turned. Standing behind him, just out of the reach of the golden bulblight, was its grim and unsettling parallel. She hovered several inches off the ground in a swirling void of glittering purple, her see-through, dragonfly wings distorting the door and the walls behind her. She raised her thin, insectoid arms, her joints bending a bit too far in ways they shouldn’t bend, and blinked her wet, big black eyes which took up too much of her face. She grinned, but like her magic her face was not as sweet as it seemed. Under a button nose and framed by locks of purple hair was a thick row of razor sharp teeth, smiling far wider than was natural for any good and holy Candian. Lapin bowed - but made it clear, as always, that he wasn’t fond of doing it. “Why… have you done this?” Lapin asked, squinting his eyes.

She laughed again, condescendingly. “Lapin,” she said, “Is it so hard to believe that I might do favors for my loyal followers. You have done all that I asked. Your first wish was completed with unquestionable success.”

“The Candian police were certainly able to question it,” Lapin grumbled. 

“Yes, well, I made short work of that,” answered the Sugarplum Fairy, with a smile and a flick of her hair. “And now that I have done you this… tremendous favor. I have decided upon my second wish.”  
Lapin looked her over carefully, going stiff. Because not _enough_ had happened today, he thought exhaustedly. Nevertheless, he made an effort to be grateful, and softly said, “What will you have me do?”  
“Protect this family, Lapin,” she said.

Lapin creased his eyebrows. “The  _ royal  _ family?” he asked, “What can I do for them?” 

Her smile disappeared for a moment, and her eyes glowed a little brighter. “All that you can do,” she said, “Until you can do no more.” A gust of fruit-scented wind filled the room and a chill ran up Lapin’s spine as she hovered an inch or two higher. “To cement it into your world and mine; It is my wish that you should do all you can to protect the royal family.” For a moment her voice echoed around the room and the wind got stronger, coming from nowhere, making the tablecloths and the edges of the bedsheets fill the room with rustling. She glowed more, but brighter was not the right word - in fact, the purple around her only got deeper, so deep that Lapin thought for a moment he might have fallen into it. Then it faded - the wind was gone, the aura ceased to pound, and she was nothing but a figure before him again. Her eyes went from their bright, lighthouse-like piercing light back to their typical ambient glow, and she smiled. “Do you think you can manage that after all I’ve done for you?”  
He nodded coolly. “Of course,” he said. 

Then, with a flicker of a breeze her form began to turn from flesh into glitter and light and she collapsed inwards with a giggle, turning into a speck of nothing and then vanishing in a cloud of sparkles which melted like snowflakes before they hit the hardwood floor. Lapin heard one final call of her light voice barely an inch from his ear saying, “And let loose for once, Lapin! Mad little bunny like you, I’d have thought you’d  _ jump _ at the opportunity!” He winced away from the sound of her childish little giggle and swatted away her voice like a fly. Right. All this good fortune made sense now - two wishes down. 

Who knew how long it’d be before she wished again?


	7. Dinner With Royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lapin is invited to speak about his past and his position when invited to dinner with the King, the Queen, and the Good Sir Knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats UP guys!!!
> 
> so you know whats driving me bonkers??? I ALMOST HAVE 100 COMMENTS ON 'AND THE CITY DREAMT OF ME'!!!! 100!!!! im not trying to brag seriously im just SO excited and i just want you all to know (and ill reiterate that on that fic too as soon as i write another dang chapter lmao) that i TRULY do appreciate it. every time you put in the work to leave a comment and think you dont have anything valuable to say, that i dont care about a keysmash or a few exclamation poitns? Its all wonderful, and it all helps. you have been such a delightful bit of light in this shitty time, my guys!! enjoy this next chapter, and im working at finishing up a few of these got dang wips!!!

“Cadbury?” Theobald knocked on the door of Lapin’s room. He’d stopped a servent in the hallway headed the same way to notify him about lunch - it seemed for fitting that he escorted him himself. He may have been trapped here under threat of death, but he was still a  _ warlock.  _ The fact of the matter was that while he may have been a primogen and a chancellor for legal purposes, practically he was still a delinquent and a criminal. The fact that they’d allowed him to be alone in his room was a wonder - but as always, their word, literally, was law. Though, after a few seconds of no answer, Theobald felt a dread in the pit of his stomach. “Damn…” he cursed, “Cadbury, are you in there?!” Another few seconds, “Cadbury, if you don’t come out, I’ll come in by force, there’ll be no hiding away in there!”   


Just as he contemplated breaking the door down, it opened inward from the other side. Now the bulb was setting and the light streamed in the shade of a rubbery chuckles orange slice, staining the bed and outlining the figure before Theobald in a magnificent halo. He seemed to be a different person - his wounds were mostly healed, though those which were left were cleaned and made invisible, the bruise around his eye long gone. He was cleaned and shining, dark chocolate fur catching the light of the bulb, running along him serenely and perfect without a hair out of place. He was no longer shaking, head up, chest out, decked out in the beautiful outfit of a royal. He wore a long forest green robe lined in tiny, golden flower decorations, with a pink under-robe poking out underneath around his chest and beneath his great, sweeping sleeves. Bound over his thin shoulders was a cape of beautiful foil, a shimmering silver on both ends, bound in the front by an off-white pearl and set of thin golden chains. Holy symbols of the bulb decorated the cuffs of his sleeves, the base of his robe, as well as his tight collar, shining along the deep green. He wore a pastel pink belt made of a lovely silk and decorated with small pearls as well, tied delicately around his waist. What was once an animalistic, cruel, unholy animal stood before him as an aloof and decorated priest of the Bulbian church. 

The only familiarity in his stature whatsoever was behind his eyes, a cool brown with that same look of pretention, of someone who got what they wanted. It had shifted from the obnoxious smugness of a seemingly untouchable drug dealer to that of a politician with a superiority complex, but the gaze remained the same, and stuck out from all the glitz and glamour with an animal and hostile force. He cast Theobald a look. “I was getting dressed,” he said, exasperated, “I may not know this culture well, but I presume it is not customary to storm in on the primogen naked?”

Theobald squinted at him, still reeling. “No,” he answered breathlessly, and then cleared his throat, and took a step back. “No, but you could have answered that that was what you were doing, instead of just leaving me to think you’d snuck out the window.”

“Out the window on the fourth floor?” asked Lapin, with a raise of his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t think that new fancy outfit gives you the right to a new fancy attitude!” Theobald scolded, and stepped to the side of him. The two of them began to walk through the halls, out towards the grand hall. 

“What happened to the young girl who said she’d summon me?” asked Lapin.

“I wanted to summon you myself.”

“And what have I done to earn that special treatment?”

“Must I read your list of crimes again?”

Lapin rose an eyebrow towards him, and then walked in silence. 

Already in the beautiful dining hall four places had been set. It was an odd setup for the table, which could hold dozens and dozens of nobles and embassadors, to have four places at the Southmost end and no one sitting at the very end itself. The King and the Queen were already sitting, closer to the end, their food untouched. Caramelinda was having her napkin tucked into her collar gingerly by a kitchen servant, and Amathar was politely turning down the service. She hadn’t seen him look so excited in quite some time. She smiled. Her husband, the big, sweet child. As it was he looked more like a ten year old about to get a new toy than a grown man awaiting a guest. He swung and shifted his feet under the table, and jumped at every movement of the door, rubbing his hands together and grinning to himself.

“Calm yourself, husband,” Caramelinda advised with a soft smile, “We must continue to project ourselves as dignified.”   


“Yeah, I know, I know,” answered Amethar, though he didn’t seem to be listening.

“Your majesties,” announced a Tartguard, bowing deeply, as he stepped through the door. “The guests have arrived!”   


“See them in,” commanded Caramelinda. 

In stepped the Knight and the Chancellor. Theobald, for once, was out of his full suit of armor, which was an unusual sight to say the least. His build alone was enough to give the illusion of armor, however, and the size of his enormous base chest and muscular arms was only more impressive when one considered the fact that there was nothing there beneath his cape. He was in a brilliant goldenrod colored tunic around a cobalt pair of pants, his thick leather belt made to match. Around his shoulders was his usual cape pushed more to one side than the other, bound in the front with a green gumdrop. He wasn’t nearly as decorated as the king and queen, and still somewhat less so than the new primogen. Theobald tended to consider gems and decor an unnecessary encumbrance. Beside him, was the primogen, tall, clean, and decorated. His silver cape glistened with a warped reflection of the chandelier above, the foil decorations along the forest green of his robes twinkling and catching the light. For the time being, he followed Theobald’s lead on everything. Only after the knight sat down, did he follow. That said, it was hard to resist - frothing glasses of cherry cola, rich strawberry rhubarb pies, chocolate cakes and enormous twizzler loaves in intricate braids. Faith, meaning, politics were all vague and emotional, and Lapin didn’t have much luck with vague and emotional things. But food? What wasn’t there to love about that?

“Well, Mister Cadbury,” said Caramelinda, lifting her glass of cola and flashing a more casual smile than she’d shown before. “The tailors have certainly outdone themselves.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Lapin said cordially, and bowed again, and then took his seat at the table. 

A series of looks shot around the table in hope of permission - Lapin to Theo, Theo to the King, the King to the Queen, until finally Queen Caramelinda smiled, nodded, and gestured to the table, brightly saying “Go ahead, please, help yourselves!” 

Lapin needed no more prompting. Vision in a starving haze he did all he could to go on looking cordial while he snatched the first thing he saw, a small raspberry tart drizzled in chocolate. It tasted  _ heavenly.  _ The rest of the table began at their own rates as well, the King swiftly dunking a piece of twizzler into his massive mug of cola as the Queen daintily cut up a piece of chocolate cake. Theobald took a few things for himself, but he was having trouble keeping cordial too. Not so much because of hunger, but because of excitement. He had to fill his mouth with food not to grin about the fact that, whether it was about him or not, he had gotten to dine at the royal table  _ immediately beside the King!  _

That of course meant that Lapin was beside the queen, and casting anxious looks in her direction every couple of seconds. But he was composed - more composed than one might guess, for a low blood like him. 

“So,” Amethar began, with a sly smile towards the new Primogen, “Lapin. Theobald tells me you’ve got quite a past.”

Lapin looked up, startled by the use of his first name. Tread carefully, he told himself. “You could say that,” he answered honestly. 

“Fight in the Ravening War at all?”   


He glanced down. “I was… involved unofficially,” he admitted. 

Theobald squinted. “What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?”   


“Well,” he answered coolly, cutting himself a piece of twizzler, “My magical powers are primarily in the healing department. I was never  _ on  _ the battlefield but I… I certainly helped certain… individuals get on their feet again, in my time.”

“For a price,” growled Theo under his breath. Amethar made little attempt to conceal his annoyance.

“What was that, Theobald?” he asked, exasperated.

Theobald met his gaze. “Your majesty,” he addressed him, “Lapin made his income by healing the destitute if they could not find a doctor. The only difference being that doctors made you pay upfront. He was known to put poor, unassuming peasants into lifelong debt under threat of death.” Here he looked directly at Lapin across the table, Lapin squinting carefully back. 

Amethar rose his eyebrows. “Damn,” he said gently, “Is that true, Lapin?”   


Now the Queen, who before this had been coolly eating her meal and absentmindedly listening, was looking right at him.  _ Fuck.  _ Did this glorified teddy bear want him to live or not? “Well I would not call the debt lifelong, your majesties,” he weaseled, “You will recall that I was… somewhat destitute as well.”

The Queen spoke up as she went on cutting her cake, her expression unreadable. “And was this your former profession, Mister Cadbury?”

“... You might say that.”

“And before that?” she further interrogated. 

Lapin leaned back in his seat, face going stern. “You are referring to my childhood, your Majesty?”

“If it is necessary to go back that far, then yes, I suppose I am.”

All eyes were on Lapin. He took a moment to notice that, squirming in the newfound silence brought about by royal curiosity. He could feel it in all their minds - how does a good, natural-born Candian turn into  _ you.  _ They may have been the most powerful people in the country, but he’d be damned if he was turning this into a therapy session. As if he didn’t care, he went back to his food, and casually answered, “What you’d expect.” He picked up a piece of cake on his fork and looked at that instead of the eyes of any of his companions, “Parentless, as far as I am concerned. I survived through begging and pickpocketing with an illegal organization of those from similar backgrounds. I decided, however, that I wanted a better life than that and I left to manage on my own at… Oh, I suppose it must have been thirteen or fourteen. I can’t say I remember for certain. Your majesties.” He nodded at them, the slightest tone of bitterness in the tail of his phrases. All of it was thoroughly true - he supposed, from an objective standpoint, it was really very sad. But he never saw it like that. It was what it was - he didn’t mourn over any part of it or want to change any of it. Well, that wasn’t quite true. The food could have been better. 

The King leaned back, eyebrows raised, Theobald shared his expression. The Queen, as always, was unreadable. 

Amethar sighed. His voice softened. “Well, I… I’m very sorry about that, Lapin,” he said, and the genuine tone to his voice was deeply startling, “That is a lot of bullshit to put up with. Can’t imagine us picking you up out of everything made it any easier. I’m sorry.”

Lapin was dumbstruck by the King’s sympathy. Not only had he never seen anything of the sort from royalty, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything of the sort at all. “You… don’t need to… apologize,” he said slowly, “I assure you, this is far…  _ far  _ superior.”

“Yeah, you don’t know the half of it!” laughed the King, “Let me tell you, there’s gonna be some services you’re gonna want to turn down, like if you get some guy offering you a-a, what is it, Fructeran bath-”

Gently, the Queen cleared her throat. The King glanced at her cautionary half-smile, and then stopped in his tracks. “But you’ll find out about all that,” he quickly went on, “By the way, can you read?”  
Lapin winced. “Reasonably well,” he admitted.

“Hey- it’s- don’t even- I was just wondering for practical purposes, there’s nothing wrong with not knowing how to read,” Amethar assured him, “Caramelinda’s probably the only literate one at the table.”

Theobald shot a look in his direction, immediately wondering whether it was appropriate to correct him or not. Better to be honest, he reminded himself. “Actually my King, forgive me if this seems like an insult, but I am actually, in fact, literate.”   


Amethar turned to him. “Oh yeah you wrote that - that scroll.”

He went silent for a moment, stumped by that reply. “I have… written many scrolls, my King.”

“The one from the road about…” he nodded his head in the direction of Lapin, as if he wasn’t sitting immediately sitting beside him. 

“Ah, yes, my formal report,” Theobald said with a nod, “Yes, that was written in my own hand, your majesty.”

“Right,” said King Amethar, “I stand corrected. It’s just the priest and the King who can’t read. Some fuckin’ world we live in huh?  _ Wild!”  _ Theobald flinched at the swear, and Caramelinda rolled her eyes. 

“I assure you your majesty,” said Lapin, “I can read well enough for my task at hand.”

“Good to hear,” he answered. 

“Mister Cadbury,” the Queen spoke up again, “I must admit I have a morbid curiosity regarding your…  _ other  _ means of securing capital as implied by Sir Theobald’s last report. Is it true that you were a distributer of… illegal substances.”   


Lapin turned back to her, anxiety flooding back into his chest. Why couldn’t he have just gone on talking to the King, he was easy. “That… does have some truth as well, your Majesty,” he confessed. 

“Oh yeah, I remember that!” said Amethar, “I believe my dear Knight accused you of  _ salt  _ addiction of all things. That’s some crazy stuff.”

The Primogen looked up at him and creased his eyebrows, bewildered. “You mean to say you’ve done salt?”  
“Are you accusing the Good King Amethar of being some-some _junkie_!?” demanded Theobald going red in the face. 

“Hey, Theobald, it’s an innocent question, relax,” scolded the King, raising a hand in his direction. He leaned forward over the table towards Lapin. “Between you and me? Once, and  _ never again.”  _

“What…” Theobald whispered breathlessly. 

“Husband, perhaps we should change the subject,” Caramelinda coolly recommended. 

“No- yeah- well yes, off of me, you’re right, sorry gotta keep quiet about that shit, but, Lapin,” the King stammered, and looked concerned again, “Are you really hooked on that stuff? Because I am a pretty lax guy but I can’t have the Primogen salted out of his mind every time he gives a sermon.”

For a moment, a hint of irritation crossed Lapin’s face, the circles under his eyes all the more apparent. “Well, the uh, good Sir Knight took my drugs, or else I assure you, I’d have…”   


He trailed off and, realizing his mistake, felt something in his gut drop like a stone. Unable to look at the awed eyes staring right at him, he took a slow sip of his cola.

“Are you implying,” the King said, tortuously slow, “That if given the chance you would have dined… with the King and Queen of Candia… on  _ drugs?” _

The silence was agonizing, falling around them like bitter crackling ice. Theobald was giving him an awed look, and the Queen, for once, was smiling at the King and wondering what  _ he  _ would do. Lapin knew that he could lie, now, but it would sound false. He’d slipped up, and it was very clear what he meant. There was no coming back. Perhaps that King could understand that - he seemed to be a very understanding man. “Well,” he said precariously, “I am a warlock in the Candian Court, your Majesty. One must maintain their composure through… whatever means are necessary.” For once, the King could not be read - not a good sign. He squinted carefully at Lapin, who was holding his breath, and clenching his teeth.

Eventually, he said, “Theobald.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”  
Slowly a smile crept onto his face, and he confessed, “I like this guy. Good find.”  
Caramelinda smiled a little wider and then took a sip of her cola. Theobald took a moment to answer, before stammering out, “Th-thank you, your Majesty, thank you!”

Lapin let out the breath he’d been holding for the past two minutes, eyes wide with relief as he took another bite of his cake.  _ Good call,  _ he thought to himself. 

After dinner was over, the Queen, still not having risen from her seat, asked Lapin if he wouldn’t mind taking a moment more to talk with her - it shouldn’t take long, she assured him. Normally, he’d be terrified - but something in her face told him this wasn’t another threat, nor punishment for what he said. Over his short period of observation, he’d already learned much about what he could and couldn’t do. The Queen was the stern politician, the one who made the choices, and the King was a remnant of the war, friendly, uncautious, affectionate. What was most important, however, was their relationship with each other. It was clear from the get-go that when dealing with both of them together that if one was happy, generally, so was the other. The King would tolerate political lies if his Queen appeared satisfied, and the Queen would tolerate some foolish commonness if it entertained her husband. However, irritate either of them and he knew he could expect the Hungry One from the other - keeping that in mind, he waited while Theobald and the King stepped out of the room. 

“Your majesty,” he said, and bowed again.

She smiled and nodded. She seemed different than she was before, a little less powerful, a little more tired. Perhaps it was the way she was sitting, the fact that they were face to face, but for a split second she was much less Queenly than she was a moment ago, and she was only a worried woman with quite a lot of power in her hands. “Mister Cadbury,” she said softly, “It is clear that my husband has quickly become fond of your… unapologetic and audacious nature. It is equally clear that Sir Theobald strongly dislikes it, but, that was to be expected. As for myself… I cannot say I mind it either. I have often wished that those who surround me were a bit more bold when it came to saying what they meant. I have faith in you, Mister Cadbury. I believe that this strength of character can serve you very well, if used around the right people. And it _must_ be around the right people.” She leaned forward, tenting her fingers under her chin. Her voice got even softer, almost tender, “But believe me when I say that this life could prove to be more dangerous than your last one. You must watch what you say. You must watch who you say it to. For your own sake, Master Cadbury, be careful.” She muttered then, softly, to herself, “For the sake of the bulb, be careful.”  
Lapin allowed what she said to sink in, and then slowly nodded. 

“Thank you,” she finished, and nodded tiredly towards the door, “You may go.”   


Lapin bowed, turned, and left the Queen alone.


End file.
